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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048865">Daisy Wells is (Not) Immortal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards'>clickingkeyboards</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Murder Most Unladylike Series - Robin Stevens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fake Character Death, Foreshadowing, Gen, Hurt No Comfort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:33:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>506</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29048865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickingkeyboards/pseuds/clickingkeyboards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times that Bertie alluded to Daisy's death, and one time Harold found out that he predicted the future.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harold Mukherjee/Bertie Wells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Daisy Wells is (Not) Immortal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Crikey, did you have to drag me out this early?” Bertie laughed into the cold air, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Daisy doesn’t get back from Egypt until well after Christmas, I can wait to get her a gift.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the worst procrastinator that I’ve ever met!” Harold’s hand was at Bertie’s elbow, guiding him down the high street with signs that buffeted into cold clouds of breath. “You’d wait to get her a gift if you knew that she was going to drop off the face of the earth tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised an eyebrow in a practised manner and Harold stared back coolly, only slightly amused. “But she won’t, H, so I don’t have to worry about that.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Bertie, why on earth are you reading </span>
  <em>
    <span>Death on the Nile</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Bit insensitive, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled, marking his page by folding the corner. “Please, Manda. Daisy took a copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Murder on the Orient Express </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Hazel’s father took them on the train, she’ll doubtless be obnoxiously reading this book right now and teasing Hazel within an inch of her life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s something called </span>
  <em>
    <span>foreshadowing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wells,” Alfred teased from across the table. “You’re doing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That actually forced a laugh from him. “Like my sister could die! She’s practically immortal, that girl is.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“What is wrong with that girl? They should have docked by now, I told her to call me as soon as she could.” Bertie passed the receiver between his hands irritably. “Anybody would think that she’s died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harold raised an eyebrow and then paused. “You don’t think that something’s happened, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not! Vincent would never let her get hurt, and Uncle Felix would never send her somewhere that injury was possible.” Bertie grinned and replaced the receiver. “No doubt she’s busy getting lectured about communism. You know how George is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Bertie’s smile, Harold couldn’t laugh. There was a sinking feeling of dread in his stomach that he couldn’t let go of.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Is this Bertie Wells?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harold pressed the receiver to his ear, glancing side to side to check for listeners. “No, it’s Harold Mukherjee. I’m his friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” The voice was unfamiliar until the girl spoke again, shaking words whispering, “I’m Rose Wong. And… I have some bad news. Nobody else thought to call Bertie, so I snuck away downstairs and decided to do it myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very admirable of you, Rose,” he said carefully. “What is this… news you have?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice was tinny and far away, but her words were crystal clear when she said, “Daisy died. Heppy pulled her with her into the Nile. Heppy, the murderer, the one who stabbed Theodora. They looked for her for hours, the British boy — your brother? — dived for her for ages and ages, Alexander had to pull him out of the water and tell him to give up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span>?!” Harold shouted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay,” he assured Rose, feeling dread sinking into his stomach. “I think you’re being tremendously brave. Can you explain that again, but slowly?”</span>
</p>
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